


Throneless: Eua’s Veil

by willawips



Series: Throneless Campaign [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24138211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willawips/pseuds/willawips
Summary: The Amber Isles are crucial for their cultivation of one specific and unique herb that is needed for religious ceremonies across many kingdoms. One day, the shipment boats don't arrive as scheduled at the Moskan docks. No one knows why. They wait, thinking maybe it was delayed. But then the next week passes, and the next, and suddenly it's been over a month and there is no contact with the isles.It's sacred neutral ground. Neither Moskan kingdom, Northern or Southern, can send military to investigate, and they don’t know what could have happened. Did the Nomoskan rebels break the boundaries of neutrality there? Has a plague struck down the people? Did the Veil between life and death finally swallow the isles’ inhabitants whole?Finally, Nomoska begins putting together a non-military delegation to sail to the isles and find out what happened.They're looking for volunteers.
Series: Throneless Campaign [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872388
Kudos: 2





	1. Missing Shipments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of an ongoing homebrew dnd group! Tuuli, Sakari, and Petras are all Player Characters.

It’s a cold day in the coastal city of Carthum. The harvest weeks are long past, replaced by a bitter wind that howls down the alleyways and out onto the docks where fishermen unload their catches with frigid fingers. The upper room of the city’s largest inn, “The Blue Rose”, offers a warm respite for its occupants. Seven people lounge in intricately carved wooden chairs set in an arc around the room’s main centrepiece: a large fire sporting blue and gold flames, curtesy of a novelty powder from some kingdom across the Coros Sea. The room is silent except for the low crackling of the fire. One of the seven, a young woman with short black curls and pale tattoos twisting over her shoulders, holds a child on her lap. The boy sits quietly despite his young age, focused on braiding his mother’s hair into chaotic knots. An older woman watches the pair in amusement, a smile twitching her lips, as she sits with legs thrown out across the floor and muscled arms crossed tightly over her chest.

A man enters the room and all rise to greet him. He waves a hand for them to return to their seats and takes up a place near the fire. His clothes are fine and well-tailored; the cuffs of his white sleeves are embroidered with the golden sickle moons of the Moskan deity Ausa, and he wears the traditional striped sash of the Nomoskan peoples around his waist. His greying hair is pinned back with a thin silver clasp. The way he carries himself suggests a noble status far above the others in the room, but he smiles at them warmly and extends his hands in greeting. 

“Welcome,” he says, bowing slightly at the waist. “Eua’s blessings on each. I am Lord Edran and I serve the Will of the King by bringing this delegation into being. You have my deepest thanks for travelling all this way. “

“You’re no doubt aware of the situation. The Amber isles have been silent for over four weeks now, and there have been no shipments of _sillen_ brought to the docks. This is, of course, greatly troubling to all the great nations who use _sillen_ in their most sacred rituals and rites: Pola, Tayem Rei, and both Moskan kingdoms, Northern and Southern. Given the Isles’ status as sacred neutral ground, no military can be sent to investigate. And so it comes that the kingdoms have turned to their citizens for aide.”

“You’ve all been selected for various reasons: some, for your homeland; others, your skills in defence, diplomacy, or, in the case of Altha,” and here he nods at the older woman, “your ship. But in the end, you are all here because of one simple reason.” He grins. “You volunteered.”

“Of course, you’ll all be compensated for your efforts and risk upon your return. Your delegation’s only task is to investigate the cease in communications and restore them. Please keep in mind that the Amber Isles are sacred ground and kept separate from the kingdoms, so your journey is unprecedented; the last outsider to step foot on Amber soil was nearly a century ago. As such, we’ve arranged for a translator and guide who hails originally from the Isles.” He nods at the young woman holding her child, who returns the nod with a thin smile. “Sala will ensure you are treated well and learn what you need without breaking the divine truces. Provision are being loaded onto a ship as we speak, and we've arranged your departure immediately following this meeting. But, first, are there any questions?”

A tall, sober-faced young man with a soldier’s bearing raises his hand. “Will we be allowed to keep our weapons?”

"A good question, Sakari.” Edran nods in approval. “Yes, you may keep your weapons, but they must be put away when you reach the Isles. We don't yet know the situation, but we must nevertheless hold to the neutrality of the grounds.”

Sakari considers the answer for a moment. “What about natural disasters?” he asks. “Could that have caused the missed shipments? Or do the Isles have any enemies you know of?” He glances at Sala as he speaks.

Sala is too busy untangling a particularly knotted strand of hair to look up, but she replies quickly. “Not since my time. Occasionally the ocean brings storms, but no more than here. Eua protects her ground, as does the sacred truce.”

“Then what might have caused this sudden silence?” asks another, a man with a well-trimmed beard and kind blue eyes. "Are there any suspicions, or are we completely in the dark?”

Lord Edran's face stiffens a little as he answers. "It is... unknown. There were no reports of a disturbance on the Isles, and we have heard nothing since the last shipment over a month ago. Even the gods are silent." He pauses, and then adds, "you are aware, I trust, of the complicated political situation in Nomoska at the moment. There are some fears that rebels may have fled to neutral ground to escape capture." He's fiddling with the edges of his sash as he speaks. "I myself am undecided on this theory."

"I'll bet you are," mutters an older man with broad shoulders and a pinched expression, drawing the attention of the others, including a young woman whose face brightens at the possibility of drama. She’s rolling a set of dice around in her hands, a moue of discontent to her as she listens to the logistics of their trip.

The asker of the question nods, stroking his beard. "I'll keep that in mind. My only other question is about the second charge: to restore communications. If, as you have put forth, the rebels are responsible for the silence, then what would you recommend our strategy be? What if we’re unable to restore communications?”

“How long is the voyage?” adds Sakari.

Edran pauses for a long moment. "If," he says slowly, "the disruption _is_ due to rebel presence, then they have broken the sacred truce. The penalty is execution. I do not know if the people of the Isles would allow the sentence to be carried out on their grounds, but, if that is the case, the rebels would be brought to Nomoska to face the noose there." He nods twice, as if to cement the statement before continuing on. "As for any other situation, you would have to decide for yourselves the best course of action. The reality remains that we have no true idea what has blocked communication. You are, unfortunately, walking in blind."

He turns to Sakari now. "The voyage will take about two days, if the weather is fair."

Sakari nods slowly. “If there are rebels, any idea of their possible numbers?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Why, afraid?” asks the young woman with the dice, smiling at Sakari with too many teeth. Her eyes are upturned, as if she may laugh at any moment, and her clothes are bright and expensively embroidered, weighed down by coins and jewellery that jingle with her every movement. She’s a stark contrast to the plain grey tunic and stoic expression Sakari wears.

“No,” Sakari says seriously, his brown eyes much warmer than his demeanour.“I am collecting information.”

“Information doesn’t help with the wrong edge of a sword,” she sing-songs. She wrinkles her nose at him, quite obviously taking his measure. Then she grins again, making her assessment and moving forward.

Altha, the ship captain, regards her with narrowed eyes. "And why's this one here, then?"

“Why wouldn’t I be?” The woman flashes her pretty eyes at Altha. “Pola has its reasons for being here, and I will serve as best I can.” She turns back to Edran, impatience in her voice. “When can we leave? Right now? Or is there more?”

Altha clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, muttering something unkind under her breath, but the woman only smiles in a self-pleased sort of way and swings her legs under her chair.

"That's all on my part," says Edran gravely, seeming to ignore the tension between the members of his expedition. "You may depart if there are no further questions."

The group shake their heads as a collective, settling the matter.

"Excellent." Lord Edran bows once more. "May Eua's blessings be with you, and may Kahre keep her breath away from your ship."

They all follow Altha down to the docks, introducing themselves on the way, to where a ship sits waiting for them, a long board attached from the deck to the bobbing platform on which they stand. 

Altha smiles fondly at the vessel. "Welcome aboard _The Arlen_. She may not be big, but she's fast, and she's lasted more storms that this little one's lived." She taps Sala's son on the nose, and he giggles.

Sakari regards the ship unhappily. “Two days,” he says under his breath. “I can manage two days.” Out loud, in a poor attempt at casualness, he asks, “Are there many storms this time of year?”

Altha laughs and slaps his shoulder. “Come, now. Never been on a boat? Where do you hail from anyway, to not know the season's storms?”

He stiffens a little. “Tayem Rei.”

“Well that explains it," says the pinch-faced man, who introduced himself as “Nenet”. He stoops down to pick up Sala's bags. “The whole kingdom turns green when it looks at the sea.”

"Do you get seasick, son?" asks Petras, the kindly man with the blue eyes, quietly. "It's all right, I do too.”

“I’m a perfectly normal colour,” Sakari says with offended dignity. “And I don’t know. I’ve never been on the sea before.”

Altha pushes him towards the ship with a grin. "Once you get a taste of the sea, it doesn't leave your blood, boy. _The Arlen_ will take care of you.”

The young woman, Tuuli, swishes a carnelian sash in his direction. She mutters a few words in a guttural language, then winks at him, her dark hair settling around her face. “Better an anointing of water than fire.”

“I would prefer not to be anointed at all,” he mutters. Obedient to Altha’s push, he shuffles up the gangway, eyes fixed on the mast.

Altha shoos the rest aboard and then follows them. There are two or three scattered crew members on the ship's deck bustling about with all manner of ropes and hooks. One, a tall man with a scar cut through the left of his face, waves them towards a door. "Quarters are below," he grunts, his accent thickly foreign.

“We can’t stay in the sun?” Sakari asks. For a moment, his face betrays his dismay before he succeeds in clamping down into professional detachment. He bears the air of one who would answer “sir yes sir!” to nearly any comment directed his way, and it does not take him long to regain his composure. 

"You can if you throw your bags down first. Can't keep them up here. Anything loose will be tossed off." The sailor winks, but his tone is serious.

"Finin isn't joking," says Altha, coming up behind them. She throws an arm around Finin. Their height difference is enough that she barely rises to his shoulders and her arm settles on his waist. He bumps an elbow against her affectionately. "Sakari’s new to the sea, Finin. Keep an eye on him."

Tuuli throws down a small bag, barely holding anything. “Light heart means light baggage,” she tells Finin. She smiles, lips parted to show off her recent red paint. “Have any other advice for our poor land friend?” Turning to Sakari, she adds, “If you have trouble tonight, I can help you. I’m not afraid of the dark.”

He flushes.

"Keep an eye on this one too," Altha tell Finin, fixing Tuuli with a firm glare. "She smells like trouble." She shakes her head at Tuuli, her thick braid sliding over her shoulder. "You'd best keep to your own quarters on my ship, miss.”

Tuuli doesn’t seem much put off by the command, but Sakari looks relieved. “Thank you,” he says to Altha, not quite meeting her eyes.“Master...Finin. Are there assigned, ah, bunks, or are we to place our bags wherever seems out of the way?”

“If there's a body on it, move on,” Finin grunts. “That's about it.”

Sakari nods and carries his pack belowdecks. Five minutes later, he’s back up, slightly panicked and trying to hide it. “So... _everybody_ fits below?”

Nenet is right behind him, grimacing. “We'd better. I'm _not_ sleeping on the deck.”

Sala's son runs past them suddenly, whooping loudly. He's managed to find a loose coil of rope and tied it around his waist and arms, dragging it along the deck at breakneck speed like a loose pet. A knotted portion gets tangled under his feet and he stumbles, crashing into Sakari's already shaky form.

Sakari clutches at the railing and drops into a crouch. “Whoa, little one! Better mind your footing!” He looks around for Sala, frowning primly. “I hear the seas have fish that would eat you in a bite.”

“Here, I'll take him.” Petras scoops up the child expertly and sets him upright on the deck. “Where's your mother, little one?”

The boy rolls his eyes but doesn’t answer Petras’ question. “Fish don't eat us,” he tell Sakari, unfazed. “We eat _them_.”

“Not the biggest fish,” Sakari mutters darkly. “There are fish in the deeps that could eat this ship whole. Ask Master Finin.”

Finin crouches down by the boy's side and begins unwinding the ropes. "It's true," he says. The boy blanches, but Finin quickly adds, "I won't let them eat you, of course, so long as you keep your hands away from my ropes and don't crash into this fellow any more. _He_ might keel over, you know. No sea legs."

The boy nods seriously and turns two wide eyes on Sakari. "Sorry," he apologizes, his voice earnest. "I don't want you to fall over."

Sakari looks slightly exasperated at having been labelled a landlubber so quickly, but he says only, “It’s all right.”

Someone calls out in a strange tongue. Sala emerges from below deck with fire in her eyes, glancing around for her missing child, who immediately takes cover behind Sakari's legs. The hiding place proves to be a poor one. Sala spots him immediately and marches over, calling for him in Old Moskan. The boy answers her in the same language, stubbornly clinging to Sakari until Sala says something in a stern tone and he leaves his hiding place, sighing and dragging his feet.

"I'm sorry," Sala apologizes, in the Common Tongue now, as he returns to her side. "Misko didn't cause much damage, did he?"

“Oh no,” Sakari says. “He was just playing.”

Sala eyes her son. "Was he, now? After I _told_ him to stay below deck, away from the others?"

Misko shrugs. “They were in the way. And you were taking too long in our room.”

“Is that so?” Sala fixes him with a firm look. “Well, there’ll be no more disturbances from us, I can assure you all.” She holds out a hand, and Misko takes reluctantly, lips puckered up in a pout. “We’ll leave you to enjoy the sun in peace.”

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Though the seas are calm, the wind continues to blow coldly over the waters, and most eventually take shelter below deck. The bunks are crowded, but there is more space in the common room where they eat their provided dinner, fresh bread ("the freshest we'll get for a while," says Finin), a hard and bitter cheese, and a thick soup served by the Somoskan delegate, Nenet. "It'll keep your bones warm," he says proudly as he serves it. "Family recipe."

They retire to their bunks. Tuuli and, somehow, Sakari, who has never before slept in a hammock but finds himself pleasantly surprised, fall deeply into sleep. The rest struggle. Misko tosses and turns, keeping his mother up with his restless kicks, and Nenet dozes fitfully. Altha and her crew take turns, well accustomed to the strange rhythms of life at sea.

It's early morning when the storm breaks in from clear skies.

Petras, Nenet, and Sala wake quickly to the shuddering of the ship. The wind is screaming around them, and above deck there are shouts as the crew fights to keep the course. Sakari and Tuuli don't open their eyes until Altha staggers down the stairs, drenched in cold water. "Something's wrong," she gasps, her voice hoarse. "I- If you have gods, pray now. This is not a season storm." And then she's gone, back up into the rain.

The ship rocks violently, throwing them from their hammocks. Anything untethered rolls against the far side of the room.

Sakari catches Tuuli and huddles, clinging to one of the beams. Sala sweeps Misko up in her arms and he wraps his legs around her waist, eyes wide. They grab onto the nearest beam, Nenet joining them, mumbling prayers under his breath to the ocean goddess Kahre. "She's in a rage," he says quietly, to no one in particular.

Petras moves to one of the beams as well, murmuring his own prayers under his breath.

“Please, Vala,” Sakari whispers fervently from his corner of the room, “don’t let me drown. Let me die on land and I’ll never flick cherry stones at my sister again.”

As if in answer, the ship still for a moment. Then, thunder cracks around them, and the ship pitches hard in the other direction. Water begins to cover the steps.

Sakari yelps and hugs Tuuli a little tighter, whether for her protection or his comfort, no one could say.

“We'll be eaten by fish,” Misko wails, even as Sala tries to shush him.

“Vala, protect us from fish,” Sakari begs.

Petras’ voice cuts through the chaos. “We need to get out of here. If we're still here when the room fills up, we'll all drown and it'll be harder to break the surface of the water.”

“But we’ll be swept overboard!” Sakari protests.

“Not if we tie ourselves to something sturdy that floats. A strong enough piece of wood should do it. That way, if we're swept overboard, we'll stay above the waves.”

Tuuli pats Sakari’s hand, the only place where she can reach him given how tightly he’s gripping her. “Do not fear,” she whispers. “A storm is merely a show for the gods.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he answers, his voice tense.

“Let's get going,” Petras calls. “Try to move fast.”

Sakari takes a deep breath. “Ready?” he asks Tuuli. She nods. He snatches up their respective bags, gets a better grip on her hands, and sets off towards the stairs.

“Wait!” Tuuli pulls her hand out of Sakari’s grip, which takes a bit of a struggle. Once she manages to get away, she dashes back to their hammocks and yanks up his bow and arrows. “For your fight against fate,” she says, grinning as she returns to his side. The rest follow them up the stairs, collecting their own bags and clinging to each other as they try not to fall.

The deck is glassy. Water slides across it while the ship rocks on the edge of the waves, back and forth and back again. Altha is gripping the wheel and shouting orders to her crew, who pull at the riggings frantically. Finin is closest to the group, and he turns as they emerge from below deck. "Grab hold or you'll be lost," he shouts, his voice nearly torn away by the wind. Lightning splits the sky and thunder rolls on its heels. Misko screams and covers his ears.

“Grab hold of what?” Sakari yells.

“Anything!” comes the reply.

Sakari looks desperately to Tuuli and Petras for guidance. Everything on the deluged deck looks slippery and untrustworthy to him.

Petras scans the deck, and points at a pile of soaked, splintered planks with rope nearby. "There!" he shouts over the wind. "We need to get that! Everybody grab one of those!“

With a bit of panicked scrambling, they all manage to grab hold of a plank and tie themselves to it. The ship pitches again and sends them tumbling towards the left side. Finin is already clinging to the edge there, and he holds out an arm to catch Sala and Misko as they crash into him. A massive wave is rising before them. If there were any sun left, the height of it would have swallowed the light. But the sky is black, hidden even from the stars.

"Brace yourselves!" screams Altha from the wheel. There's a moment of almost silence as the wave hangs over, just long enough for something to cry out to Eua for aid. And then it falls, and everything turns to water.

They're torn apart in the waves. Neither Sakari nor Sala's ropes were tied tightly enough and the planks are ripped away from them almost immediately. Nenet, Tuuli, and Petros manage to cling to theirs and break the water's surface after a few moments of terror. Altha pops up a ways away, as does Finin, one arm wrapped around Sala and Misko as he fights to keep them above the water. Sakari is nowhere to be seen.

“There,” Petras shouts suddenly, pointing into the waves. “Sakari! He's to my left, underwater. Someone get him- I can't reach him!”

Altha hears the shout and dives below. She manages to reach Sakari and hooks an arm around him, struggling to tow him back to the surface. He’s like a stone in her arms, nearly unconscious now. They break the water with a loud gasp from Altha, but nothing from Sakari. Panicked, she crushes him against her chest and slams a fist into him.

He coughs and begins to breathe shallowly, but his head lolls limply against Altha’s shoulder. She's treading water furiously, her head sinking dangerously low in the waves, pulled down by the weight of him.

Another wave rises up and send them all under again. Tuuli pops quickly back up, shaking the water from her eyes, but the surrounding sea is empty for a few terrible moments. Then, Sala emerges, spluttering, Misko wrapped tightly in her arms. Nenet is next to her. Finin also surfaces, but he's been pushed away some distance. Finally, Altha comes up, Sakari still limp in her arms.

“Where's Petras?” bellows Finin. They’re looking breathlessly for him when he breaks through the waves, coughing and screaming something. No one can hear him. He goes under again, almost as if pulled, and then re-emerges, his arms flailing.

The wind drops for a moment, and his voice flings across the water like a wild shriek. "THE WATER! THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE WATER!” Then he's under again, dragged down by a dark shadow.

Petras kicks at whatever has a hold on his ankle and it loosens for a brief moment before digging in even more sharply. Something rakes down his calf, and the water turns red. He kicks again, again, and then the shadow shrinks back. 

For a moment, it hangs before him, and he can see it clearly. It's nearly human in shape, with pale shrivelled arms and long black hair that writhes around it in the water. But the hands are far from human, webbed and stuck with claws, and the creature’s lower half is twisted into a long, swollen trunk and tail. Worst of all is the face: the mouth gapes open in rows of long teeth and where there would be eyes gape two hollow sockets.

It lunges towards Petras, but he's managed to keep a chunk of ruined wood in one hand and, as the claws curl into his shoulders, he stabs the stake through the creature's chest. It flings itself backwards with a soundless scream. He swims to the surface, still bleeding, but no longer pulled down.

“Petras! Petras!” Sala is screaming his name in terror.

“I'm fine,” Petras gasps. He winces as he struggles through the water towards them. “I'm fine-is everybody else okay?”

“What _was_ that?” asks Nenet, his face pale.

“Obruo,” Tuuli shouts, bobbing with the waves. “There could be more, so we need to move towards the isles as fast as we can!”

"Over there!" cries Altha, pointing to their right. "Land! Swim!"

The waves push them closer to the distant shore, even while lightning cracks over them. Suddenly, something scratches the edge of Tuuli's foot.

"Tuuli, below!" 

Finin swims towards her as a webbed hand snatches her legs and pulls. A second obruo wraps its arms around her torso, claws sinking in. As her head goes under, it buries its teeth in her shoulder.

Finin reaches her position and dives, a knife in hand. He slams into the first obruo and wrestles it away from her, leaving her to deal with the one clamped onto her shoulder. She smashes her fists against it and it twists back, stunned, before she lands a kick to its chest and swims to the surface.

Finin breaks the water beside her. "SWIM!" he bellows, and they begin splashing towards the shore, following the rest of their party who are beginning to feel sand beneath their feet. An un-earthly shriek rises behind them as a third obruo cuts through the waves. 

Finin catches Tuuli's arm, stopping her for a moment. “Listen,” he says grimly, casting a glance back at the shadows streaking towards them. “They're too fast. They're going to claim one of us, so don't let it be you.” Pulling up his knife, which is slick with strange blood, black and oily, he presses it into her hand. “Tell Altha-”

His voice is cut off as the wails of the creatures fill the air. With a desperate shove, he pushes her towards the land. “Swim!” he orders, and turns away, back to the embrace of claws and hollow eyes.

The party washes up on a rocky shore, gasping for breath. Tuuli arrives last, bleeding, barely managing to hoist herself onto the sand. Altha grabs her arm and pulls her the rest of the way.

“Are you alright?” she asks.

Tuuli coughs up water, eyes filled with tears. She looks back at the sea, her lips moving in a murmur. “Why did he save me?” 

“What?” Altha drops her arm and steps back, her eyes scanning the water. “Did he-” She swears, blinking fast. Then she leans back down and lifts Tuuli to her feet. “Come on, then. The water's not safe.”

The group lies limply on the sand, lost for breath and words, rain continuing to pelt them. At last, Sala sits up and looks around, Misko on her lap.

“This,” she says quietly, “is not the Isles.”


	2. Shipwrecked

Sakari struggles to a sitting position and looks around the shore blearily. “What happened? Where are we?” His voice is hoarse from seawater, and when he sees Tuuli and Petras’s injuries he croaks in dismay.

Tuuli notices his stare and looks down at her shoulder. Her dress is torn, blood seeping through the shredded fabric from where the obruo had bitten her.

Wobbling, pausing occasionally to cough, Sakari retrieves his soaked bag and uses his dagger to cut the bottom of his own shirt into ribbons. “Any fresh water?” he asks. “Captain, can I clean their wounds with sea water or will the ocean try to finish murdering them?”

Altha frowns. “It's not ideal...but the sand will be worse. Does anyone have alcohol?”

Tuuli raises her hand stiffly, then withdraws a canteen, three quarters full of something clear. She furrows her brow down at it, looks at Sakari, then looks down at her own shoulder. She makes a “hmm” face, contemplating. Then her eyes dart to Petras and his deeply gashed leg. She blanches and passes the canteen over to him.

“No, no,” Petras says determinedly, trying to hand it back. “You first.”

Sakari takes it from their hands. “This is probably going to sting,” he warns them. As gently as he can, given his lack of expertise, he cleans out Tuuli’s shoulder wound and then ties a cloth pad over the injury. Petras is next. Sakari gags a little as he cleans the mutilated leg, but he gets a bandage wound around that injury too. “Anybody else?”

Tuuli takes the canteen and offers it to Altha. “For you,” she says, not looking at her.

Altha stares at her silently and then accepts it. She takes a small drink, wipes her mouth with a trembling hand, and passes it back. "We'll need this again," she says.

“Where are we?” Sakari asks. “You said it’s not the Isles.”

Sala shakes her head. “I don't know. The rocks look Moskan, but it could be North or South.”

“By Kahre's foul breath, I hope it's the South,” says Nenet.

Sakari rubs at his own arms. “What, um, what...caused those injuries? I don’t remember anything after-after we hit the water.” His voice sinks a little on the last word.

Altha nudges him with her foot. “You took in a lot of sea water. You're lucky not to be at the bottom.” She laughs grimly. “There's sea water in your blood for sure, now.”

Sakari looks sick at the thought.

Altha turns to Tuuli. “You saw them?" she asks. 'You and Finin? Obruo, you said.”

“Yes.” Tuuli shivers. “They’re people...caught. Between the veil. They were men and women, once. Buried by the sea. But...”

Nenet swears.

Tuuli wiggles her shoulders, not looking up at Altha. “Obruo prey on human flesh. They don’t know what they do.”

Sakari looks around until he spots Misko. “I guess the fish don’t have to be as big as ships, huh?” he says to the boy, trying to smile.

Misko stares at him with wide eyes and shakes his head.

Sakari squares his shoulders. “We’ll need to find some shelter and build a fire if possible. I’ll scout around.”

Altha runs a hand through her hair. "I've seen the creatures before, you know. But only from a distance. And never more than one.“

"We need to find a source of fresh water," Petras says quietly. "See if you can find one while scouting.“

Altha gets to her feet. "I need to say rites first. For my crew, and-" She clears her throat. "Obruo live as they do because they're trapped between the Veil, not fully buried and without ceremonies to pass them through. I won't let Finin become one too.“

“Of course,” Sakari says quietly. “Do you have any customs besides speaking? Can I help you in some way?”

She shakes her head. "Without the bodies, there is little to be done." She begins to walk away, but then pauses and turns back as something occurs to her. "Ghost pipes," she says. "Do you know them?" When Sakari shakes his head, she bends down and draws something in the sand: a long stem topped by a bell-like bloom that curls downwards to form a shepherd’s crook of sorts.

“What do they do?” he asks, staring doubtfully at the sketch.

"I know what they look like," Petras volunteers. "I've seen them before. They're white, with purple on the inner side of the petals, right?“

Altha nods. “They're very common in Moska, though I can't say if they grow much elsewhere. They're a symbol of Eua. We pile them on graves and in the arms of the dead. They ward off pikehounds from unearthing the buried, though that's not an issue right now.” Her hands are balled into fists at her side, but she talks calmly. “I could bury the flowers as the closest thing to proper rites.”

“I could help you look for some.” Petras gingerly moves his leg. “As long as we go slowly, I think I'll be fine.”

“I’ll help you,” Sakari says. He helps Petras up and wraps an arm around the older man’s torso to support him, earning a small and a murmured word of thanks.

"We'll stay with Tuuli," says Sala. "Try and find water, if you can.“

Sakari nods. “Water, flowers, shelter. Got it.”

The shore is rocky and bare, but about a twenty-minute walk away lies a thick forest, the trees crowded tightly together to form a roof of sorts over the forest floor. They find a river cutting through it, near to the edge.

The river is lined by pale white flowers. They're curled down like ferns, the petals tucked in, but their shape is still unmistakable and the smell of them is overwhelmingly sweet. It's a bit like honey in milk.

“We should probably move everyone over here to make camp,” Sakari says. “We can build a fire, boil some water, and then I’ll make shelters from the tree branches.”

"A good plan," says Altha, nodding. “Petras should stay here- your leg isn't going to get any better by walking further.”

"All right," he says. He's breathing somewhat heavily and looks relieved when he sits down on the ground.

“I don’t want to leave him alone,” Sakari says. “If you want to collect your pipes and bring the others back, I’ll get to work on the shelters and a fire.”

She chews her lip for a moment and then sighs. "You're right. Who knows what could be here. I'll move the others first- the dead can wait longer than they can."

They move camp as quickly as they can, out of the howl of the wind and rain and into the shelter of the forest. Sakari manages to make a fire and they all huddle around it gratefully, warming their soaking bodies. Altha disappears for nearly an hour with ghostpipes in her arms. When she returns, her eyes are red and swollen and her shoulders are slumped. She sits down next to Tuuli in silence.

Misko is already fast asleep, tucked up in Sala's lap and snoring gently.

"Well," says Nenet finally, feeding another branch to the flames, "this was not the trip I expected."

Petras chuckles. "I doubt any of us expected it, if that helps.“

“You said the storm was unseasonal,” Sakari says. “Could it be that the Amber Isles are cursed?”

Sala clicks her tongue. "Curses hold little weight in these parts, Sakari. This is the anger of the gods."

"Kahre is a fickle deity," says Altha. "She's known to have moods."

"No." Sala shakes her head. "It's not the storm but the obruos that worry me. As long as we've known their kind in Isle waters, they live alone. This is Eua's doing."

"But why?” Petras asks. “Why would Eua do something like this?”

“I thought the Amber Isles were sacred,” adds Sakari, flicking a twig into the fire. “How could such a place incur the wrath of Vala?”

"I don't know," replies Sala quietly. Misko shifts in his sleep and she presses a soft kiss to his head. "I have not set foot on the isles or heard from my people since I left them six years ago. Much may have changed.“

“Why did you leave them?” Tuuli asks inanely, burying her feet in the dirt.

Sala looks down at her son. "For a man. Why else does a woman leave her people?”

“Was he worth it,” she continues, drawing a figure into the dirt.

"Yes." Sala looks at the other woman, her lips pursed. "Why did _you_ leave your own?"

She shrugs, reticent yet unbothered.

“Well, _I'd_ guess it's those rebel _mahks_ ,” says Nenet with a yawn, using the old Moskan word for cowards. “You heard Lord Edran earlier: maybe they've trespassed. That'd certainly make a goddesses blood boil.”

"Yes, but we're coming to fix the problem," Petras says. "So why target us? Personally, I think much of our troubles simply stem from ill luck.“

Everyone is focused on the fire and conversation, and it's Tuuli only who hears the sharp snap of a twig in the darkness around them. Quick as a wink, she snaps her dice off her neck and rolls them across the dirt.

"What are you doing?" Altha asks, giving her an odd look. The others also glance over curiously.

“Listening,” Tuuli says in a hush, dark eyes glittering as she looks over the numbers. Then, she snatches the bow and arrows, nocking them and directing her aim toward the sound of the snap.

Sakari jumps to his feet, too, dagger in hand, eyes following her gaze.

Everyone watches them in alarm, but the woods are silent. Nothing moves. Then, something whistles through the dark and a dagger sinks itself into the soil beside Tuuli’s heel.

"Put it down," says a strange voice.

“No.” She tilts her head. “I only do trades. Yours for mine and all that. Cop a deal?”

“Show yourself,” Sakari commands.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not,” says the voice. “Not until I know the pretty one isn't going to put an arrow in me.“

“Oho!” Tuuli crows. “A compliment for a compliment. How about you show your face and I decide then?”

“If you’re friendly, you’ll have nothing to fear,” Sakari points out, but Tuuli quickly shushes him.

“Hush darling, I’m monopolizing him.”

He looks mildly exasperated, but he shuts up.

“I'm friendly enough,” says the voice. Another twig snaps, further to the left. “But she looks ready to murder someone, and I'd rather not die tonight. Especially when I've come across such interesting company.”

“First, I’m pretty, and then I’m a murderer,” Tuuli pouts. “Fickle.”

The voice doesn't reply. Altha is scanning the woods, her eyes flicking from shadow to shadow. Nenet inches closer to Sala, an arm protectively extending. Then, suddenly, a hand bursts from the bushes behind Tuuli and grabs her by the elbow.

Tuuli stifles a scream. “Handsy,” she complains.

"It's only one hand," the voice replies.

"Let her go," demands Petras. "if you're really friendly, come out and prove your good intentions. We promise not to attack if you make the same promise.“

"Swear it. On Eua, or Vala, or whoever the hell you hold dear. Swear on your own toes if you want, but swear it.“

"I swear it," Petras promises solemnly. "On my own head let ill luck fall should anyone here break this promise.“

The hand retracts, and then, as casually as if he were walking into a circle of friends, a young man strolls from the bushes. His black hair is long and tangled, filled with bits of leaf and twigs that stick out around his head like a woodland halo. The short cloak around his shoulders is frayed and pockmarked with holes, but his face is cheerful and he twirls a knife carelessly through his fingers as he approaches them. He winks at Tuuli. "You're even beautiful up close. That's rare."

“You’re saucier when I can see you.” She grins. “Mystery doesn’t suit you.”

He grins back and looks around at the group. When his head turns, they can see that one of his ears is only a ruined stump. He whistles loudly. "By the gods, you all look like you've seen a ghost. What's a nice group like this doing huddled up in the woods?”

“Why were you spying on us?” Sakari asks, a bit stiff.

The man shrugs. "I heard there had been a storm and thought something might wash up on the beach. Wasn't expecting to find you lot." He adjusts the bag on his shoulder; something metallic jingles in it. "Usually there's only bodies after a storm like that."

Altha curls her lip in his direction. "You're a corpsecrow, yeah? A looter of the dead."

Her tone doesn’t seem to bother him. "I prefer to go by Rook.”

“Is there a town nearby, then?” Sakari asks.

"Maybe." He shrugs again.

"Your accent's Somoskan," says Nenet, getting to his feet. "We're in Somoska?"

Rook shakes his head. "Fortunately for you, no. If you _were_ in Somoska, you might have met slavers instead of me."

“Then where are we?” Sakari demands. He’s not enjoying this man’s verbal fencing.

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Rook raises his hands defensively. "You're on the Nomoskan coast. Nearest town is Goven. I can take you, if you need." He squints at them. "You don't all look Nomoskan. Or sound it either. Maybe this one," and he jerks a thumb at Altha who is glaring stiffly at him, "but not the rest of you.”

“Well, Rock,” Tuuli says, carelessly flipping an arrow around her fingers, “Your story is as nice as your smile.” Suddenly she jumps. “Oh! Oh guess where I’m from! Rock, Rock, guess. Guess!”

He squishes up his nose at her mispronunciation but indulges her. “You're too loud to be Tayem Rei, and you're not dark enough to be from past the sea. You're no Somoskan either, or I'd hear the accent.” He hums under his breath and then snaps his fingers. “Pola! Yes? Did I get it? Blow me a kiss if I got it right.”

She blows a raspberry at him instead.

"I'm going to count that as yes.“

“Guess them,” she says, tilting her head toward the rest.

He leans back on his heels. "They have to speak instead of just glaring at me. Otherwise I've got nothing to go on." He points at Nenet. "I know that one's Somoskan, though. He curls his r's when he talks. And he looks like a weasel."

Nenet huffs through his nose at the assessment and mutters under his breath.

Sakari folds his arms, frowning. “Why don’t you just take us to the town? The little one needs dry clothes before he catches a cold, and these two could use proper doctoring.”

Rook grins. "Tayem Rei. Stiff as a board and ever practical. I knew one of your countrymen for a bit, you know." He whistles at the memory. "She was deadly with a sword.“

“She’s not the only one,” Sakari growls.

"Everybody, please calm down," Petras says. "Rook, friend, when can you take us to Goven? Tomorrow?“

"I could take you now, but you don't look fit for a hike." He jerks his chin at Petras' leg. "Some trouble with the sea, friend?“

"Yes. But it's not me I'm worried about, it's her, and the child." He nods at each.

Misko, who has been asleep through everything up to this point, yawns and sits up. Rook seems to notice them for the first time and takes a step towards the pair. Sala fixes him with a cold glare. He stops, but continues to smile. "Hey, little one. Are you hungry?"

Misko nods, apparently untroubled by the stranger's presence. "Do you have any sweets?" he asks as he tries to push away Sala's confining grip. She holds him tighter.

Rook sighs and shakes his head. "Fresh out," he apologizes. "But I've got a friend in Goven who does. I'll get you some tomorrow."

“Petras, I can help you walk,” Sakari offers. “We can get out of here before any... _unsavory_ sorts come by.”

"Thank you, Sakari. I appreciate it.”

Tuuli turns to Altha, saluting with the arrow. “Captain?”

"I'd stay put, if I were you,” interrupts Rook. “There's no one in these woods now, I can assure you, but there _are_ night creatures who roam these parts. I'd rather not risk it with a child. Goven will still be there come the morning."

Altha regards Rook for a long minute. "Corpsecrows are the worst sort, but they know how to survive," she admits finally. "I vote we stay the night."

"Seconded,” says Petras.

Tuuli lays back down on the dirt. “Let the wise speak, let the tired sleep, and my god will keep me there,” she hums under breath, a melody that sounds like a lullaby or hymn. She keeps a firm grip on the bow and arrows, however, shooting a saucy grin at the back of Rook’s head.

“Should we set a watch?” Sakari asks Altha. He doesn’t look at Rook.

"Yes. And the corpsecrow sleeps on the edge."

Rook rolls his eyes.

“I’ll take first watch,” Sakari says. “Um, Tuuli, may I have my bow and arrows back?”

“Let me see,” she says tartly. She rolls her dice theatrically, and then whispers something to the bow and arrows. Then, she turns to Sakari. “They’ve decided that they wish to sleep with me tonight.”

His jaw drops. “But they’re _mine_! And I’m on watch; I need them!”

“The wind whistles but is he ever heard,” she croons, looking up at the stars. “You won’t need them, green boy, not yet.”

Sakari bristles. “I’m not that green. Give them back or I’ll take them.”

“O- _ho_.” She sits up, perched on her elbows. “Promise?”

A slow flush creeps over his face, but he doesn’t back down. “Give. Them. Back.”

“Hmmmm-mmm.” She fishes out her dice again.“Below ten for you, above ten for me.” She rolls.“Seventeen.” She hugs the bow and arrows close to her chest, blowing a kiss to Sakari.

He stomps over. “Don’t make me snatch them,” he warns.

She laughs. “Are you that strong? Maybe you can snatch them, and I’ll come with them,” she suggests slyly.

This time, he turns completely scarlet and hesitates.

Rook watches the two fight with unhidden delight. "You're a fool if you don't take that offer, man.”

Sakari throws him a dirty look. To Tuuli, he says coldly, “I’m not going to make a spectacle of myself. If there’s trouble, I shall come get my weapons.” He stalks to the other side of the fire and stands with his back to everybody, ostensibly scanning the woods.

"Coward," says Rook with a laugh.

“Don’t tease him, Rock, he’s so young.” Tuuli cuddles close to the bow and arrows.

“I am not,” Sakari says sulkily over his shoulder. “I’m older than you.”

"Cut it out, both of you," snaps Altha. "Here, Sakari." She hands him the dagger strapped to her leg. "I'll relieve you in a bit. And you." Altha points a finger at Rook, her eyes livid. "You keep yourself to the edge, and if I see one move out of place, I'll pin you to the ground like the bug you are."

"With what weapon?" he shoots back.

Sakari turns around, eyes fierce.

Altha takes a step towards Rook, but Nenet jumps to press her back. "We need him, remember," he hisses. "Altha, we'll be lost in these woods.“

“Do you want me to tie him up?” Sakari asks. “Maybe gag him?”

"Hey!" Rook sounds offended.

"What an excellent idea, Sakari," says Altha. "I like you more and more by the minute."

Sakari looks unreasonably pleased at this.

A small voice pipes up in the background. "If they tie you up, will you still give me sweets tomorrow?"

"For you, anything," says Rook to Misko, backing up a bit now, the knife still in his hand. "But if anyone tries to touch me, I _will_ bleed them first."

“Even me?” Tuuli says, dark eyes mockingly wet in the firelight. “You wound me, Rock.”

"Everybody, please," Petras says, sounding very tired. "Nobody's attacking anybody, remember?“

Rook blows a kiss at Tuuli. "Tell me your name, sweet, and I'll leave you out of it. But as for the rest-" He smiles slowly, his teeth gritted. "Trust my word when I say that you won't even have time to see Eua's face before she takes you. If you try to restrain me, that is." He waves at Misko's worried face. "Not you though, little man."

"Sit down, all of you, before you hurt yourselves," says Sala in an exasperated voice. "I'm tired, and I'm cold, and now Misko will never go back to sleep if you don't all shut up _right this second_."

Tuuli mimes sewing her lips shut and flops back, catching Rook’s eye. She smiles slowly and unbraids her hair, dark locks glinting in the firelight. She then sneaks a peek over her shoulder at Sakari, but he looks quickly away.

Rook lays down on the edge of the camp and props up his chin with a hand, watching Tuuli unbraiding her hair.

The group finally settles. There is nothing to keep them warm except the fire, so they keep as close a distance to it as they can, their clothes slowly drying. The rain has stopped, but the wind continues, and as the sun dips behind the horizon a slow wail rises up in the surrounding trees. 

Misko, who was already determined not to return to sleep, sits up in alarm. "Are they back?" he asks the group, his voice a little wobbly. 

Sala pulls him back down beside her. "Hush," she says. "It's only the ghostpipes opening up, and the wind running through them. You've heard them before."

"I hate them," Misko insists, but he lays obediently beside her, his eyes open and fixed on the fire. After a quiet minute, he announces, "I can't sleep."

Sala groans.

"I'll tell you a story," offers Nenet from his position a little to their left. He's leaning back against a fallen log. "Would that help?"

"Only if he stays laying down," says Sala. Misko wiggles in delight and then calms as she brushes his arm with her fingers.

Nenet clears his throat. "My name comes from an old story. Very old. It's told often among my people, and it's a favourite of the young." He glances over at Rook who nods in agreement.

Sakari half-turns from his survey of the woods, interested even as he tries to maintain watch.

"Long ago, when the two kingdoms were newly split and still bleeding from the divide, there was a woman and a man. He was a slave and had been from his birth; he knew nothing else but the bow of a head and the thoughts of his masters. Not even a dream filled his mind that did not come from them. He waited, and he served, and he lived their will in every breath he took.

She too was a slave and had been so from birth, but her service took a different form. Promised from birth to the Heir, she lived her moments in obedience to the wills that dictated her steps. For her, there was never a word out of place, an opinion shared unpolished. She waited her sentence in practiced silence and her life was little more than a rhythmic loop of anticipation.”

"I've heard this one," Altha interjects quietly. "Nenet and Eulalia."

Nenet nods and continues on.

"He was a clever slave. He knew to read and write, and when his skill was noticed he was brought to the inner court to serve. Each day, he took out his quill and parchment, sat in his little desk, and waited for higher powers to move his hand. Each day, he wrote their will as they gave it, and he thought nothing but their thoughts. Until, that is, he saw her.

Eulalia came daily to the court, sitting quietly off to the side, present but never asked for. She did nothing more than her role and no one paid her any mind besides Nenet. But he was lost. He no longer knew the words he wrote down. He could not remember what thoughts he was meant to think. He looked at her and every breath he took was treachery. He loved her with a rebel's heart from afar.

One night, it grew too much. He fled his room and paced the garden pathways, restless and inconsolable in his love. He thought the moon might quiet his heart, but it refused. Instead, it shoved him down the twisting corners until he stumbled out by the fountain and saw that he was not alone.

She was sitting on the fountain lip, her bare feet curled in the soft grass, her face red and swollen with tears. Her arms were lifted up, and he realized she was taking out the pins in her hair, one by one, her usual grey veil thrown over her lap.

He could not move, could not breathe. This was not a sight meant for him, but he could not tear his eyes from her. When her fingers unwove her hair from its tightly pinned braids, it fell down her shoulders in tangled ripples, and he watched and wished he could bury his hands in it.

Suddenly, as if she sensed his thoughts, she glanced up and met his gaze, her fingers curling a piece of hair around her thumb. He stilled, his body going cold as he waited for the inevitable scream of alarm, for the guards to come running, for a bloody end to it all. But she only smiled and turned her head away, hiding herself once more beneath the silk grey scarf that stole back her magic from his view.

As it should be, he thought, and lowered his eyes as she left. That kind of beauty was not for him. That kind of beauty was reserved only for kings in their royal beds, crowned worthy by Eua, or then for the higher princes of the coastlines. Beauty, he knew, was not for the common. Not for the mud, even in memory. Some things simply were, and that was the way of it.

But he had watched her untangling her hair, and he did not forget. And that was rebellion enough.”

"What happened to them?" asks Sala, stroking Misko's cheek as he begins to snore once more. "Did she love him too?"

“Did he see her with her hair down again?” Sakari asks softly.

"Yes," says Nenet, “she loved him. She watched him sit at his desk each day, ignored by the swirl of humanity around him, and loved him more each moment. And when she saw him in the garden, her one place of permitted disarray, her heart was lost.

The next night, when he returned to his room, he found her there, eating pomegranate seeds at the foot of his bed as she waited for him. Her lips were red when he found her there, and she rose from the ground and kissed him with his name in her mouth, again and again, until he too said her name: _Eulalia_ , _Eulalia_." Nenet whispered her name, almost reverently. "And it was then that Nenet utterly forgot the order of the world, the taste of his shame, forgot everything beneath the moon and its twin except her, her in his arms, her under his lips, her laid across his bed with pomegranate on her mouth and unbound hair, and the way it sounded when she looked him in the eyes and said his name and he said hers back.”

"And then?"

Nenet shakes his head. "Treason is too bright to be hidden. Within a month, they were discovered and torn apart, Nenet to a death sentence and Eulalia to a dark cell to await her fate as the betrothed heir of a future tyrant."

He chucks another stick of wood into the fire. "Some versions end with love. Some say that Nenet was saved by Eulalia with the help of her loyal servants, who poison the guards and steal away the couple to live out their days in peace on a distant isle country. But most end in bitterness and death." He sighs. "That is the way of our land."

There's a long silence as he ends the story. The fire crackles, and steam hisses up from the wet wood.

With his back to the camp, Sakari wipes away a tear.

Tuuli curls a strand of hair around her finger thoughtfully. “A good story, for Somoska,” she says. “They match each other immensely.”


	3. The Road to Goven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is brought to you by my players who managed to roll the dice well enough to get away with terrible lies.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully, marked by three separate watches, and they wake to the sun breaking over the water's edge in warm shades of gold. There is no breakfast, a fact Misko woefully bewails, but Rook promises him sweets once they reach the town and he quiets down after that. The rest suffer their empty stomachs in silence.

Rook surveys the group from his cross-legged position at the edge of the camp. "How'd you sleep?" he asks Tuuli brightly.

She juts out her lower lip. “In a lonely way.” After a moment, she adds, with a mirthful look, “But not coldly. The bow and arrows were a warm companion.”

Sakari glances at her in annoyance and picks up the bags.

Rook leans in. "He's a stiff one, eh? Colder than a fish.“

Sakari ignores the jab and snaps at him sharply. “Which way to the town?” 

Rook slowly uncoils and rises to his feet, giving Sakari a cheeky smile. "Oh, are you in a hurry? You won't find your way out of these woods without me, Green. So maybe relax a bit and give the lady a kiss or something."

Sakari blushes up to his hairline and turns away from them, back stiff.

"Sakari,” says Petras, trying to change the conversation, “do you mind helping me stand? I think I can walk on my own, but it's getting up that seems to be the issue.“

“Of course!” Sakari extends a hand to Petras and carefully lifts him up. “You’re sure you’ll be all right walking?”

"He'll have to be," says Altha gruffly. "At least until we make it to Goven.“

Petras nods, his face set in determination. "Yes, I think so. I'll try to not burden you any longer.“

"Oh hush," says Sala, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You're never a burden, Petras.”

“You’ll be no burden,” Sakari assures him. “I’m strong; I can carry you and the bags easily.”

"Well, thank you very much, the both of you. But I do think I should try to go on my own as long as I can, so that if I do need help, it'll be towards the end, and you won't be exhausted from helping me the whole way." Petras smiles at them. "I promise that if I need help, you'll be the first to know.”

“Good,” Sakari says, smiling back. “Altha, maybe you can get that scoundrel to make himself useful. He seems only interested in mocking me.”

The ship captain is already regarding Rook with a sour grimace. "He can lead the way, and that's the most of it. Maybe if he stays far enough ahead, we won't have to hear him barking incessantly the whole way."

Rook only shrugs. "I've heard worse insults.”

They pack up the rest of their meager supplies and follow him deeper into the woods. The surrounding air is still, interrupted occasionally by the chirps of the few birds still present in the season's change. Leaves and branches crack loudly under their feet, a fact Rook complains about more than once, but they encounter no one else until they exit the forest and reach a beaten path. Even then, they only pass one or two others heading in the opposite direction.

Sala falls in beside Petras' limping gait. "Are you doing alright?"

He nods. Although his breathing is heavier than normal, and he winces slightly when he places pressure on his wounded leg, he's keeping up rather well. "Nothing I can't handle. I suspect I'll be changing my tune after a few hours of this, though." He smiles.

Sala smiles back, though she watches him with anxious eyes. "What's your story, Petras?" she asks, shifting Misko to her other hip.

“My story? You mean, why I'm here?”

She nods. “You're not, ah- I mean, I'd expect a young man to volunteer on a trip like this.” She nods at Sakari walking ahead of them to emphasize her point. Then, she flushes. “Not to say that you're old,” she adds quickly. “I only mean that it's unusual. Surely, you have a family?”

"Oh, I see what you mean!" Petras laughs. "Do I really seem that old? I suppose I am a bit older than the others. Yes, I have a family. My wife and I are expecting our fifth child-we hope it's a girl, you know, because we already have four boys! Not that we wouldn't love another son- it's just that my wife and I would love at least one daughter. My youngest, Dovydas, told me before he left that he wanted a little sister to carry around on his shoulders, and I have to say I share that wish.” He chuckles to himself. “Listen to me go on! I'm sorry, I'm always very excited to discuss my family. Sometimes I forget that not everybody is as interested in them as I am.”

"I'd say you're wrong there," Sala laughs, waving a hand at the rest of the party who have all slowed to listen. "Tell us more!”

"Ah, well..." Petras reddens a bit, not having realized that everybody was listening. "Let's see...Daina and I were married ten years ago, and our eldest, Duin, was born soon after. He's an adventurous sort, but he's very keen on looking out for his younger brothers. Then there's Juo, who's very quiet and kind- he loves animals, and he's even fixed up a bird whose wing was broken without any assistance from me or his mother. Arri is our third son; he's loud and curious about the world around him, always asking questions about how this thing works or why such-and-such happens. And then there's Dovydas, who's the terror of the household at five, but is also very sweet, always thinking about others.”

"I'm five too," says Misko proudly, leaning over his mother's body to get Petras' attention. "Does Dovydas like to play outside?“

"He loves it! He really loves playing in the mud, which his mother doesn't like so much, but he's the best baker in the world when it comes to mud pies." Petras winces slightly as he puts too much pressure on his leg, but he fixes a cheerful smile on his face when he looks back at Misko. "What's your favorite thing to do outside, little one?“

"Finding shells!" Misko says brightly, delighted to have someone paying attention to him. "They're all in the sand by our house and my favourite ones are blue!"

"He spends hours collecting them," Sala adds, tapping his nose affectionately. Misko shakes her fingers away in annoyance.

Sakari grins. “I like blue too.”

“Blue's a wonderful color,” Petras agrees. "I've always loved it. My wife's eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue, and the children all have her eyes.” He stares off into the distance, clearly picturing his family. After a brief pause, he asks Misko, “Do you like living on the beach?”

“It's the best!" He wiggles in Sala's arms and she switches him back to the hip closest to Petras so he can reach out and tap his shoulder. “Do you live near the beach too?”

“No, I live near the woods in the south of Pola. But my family and I visit the beaches sometimes, and I've always thought they were very lovely.”

“You should come to our house! Then I can show you the shells!”

Petras laughs. “Perhaps I will! I think you and Dovydas would get along very well, actually. He'd like you a lot.”

Misko grins.

“You know,” Petras says, his attention wandering back to his family. “If the new baby's a girl, we'll name her Giedre, after Daina's mother, but if it’s a boy, we'll name him Eduk, for my cousin.” He smiles happily. “I can't wait to meet her or him when I get back.”

Rook, who had been leading the group up to this point, stops suddenly. Ahead of them, just rounding a bend, is a clustered group of five men and women. They wear heavy cloaks lined with fur, and the rhythmic clang of every other step reveals the weapons sheathed at their sides. 

Rook pales a little. He steps back quickly, melting into the centre of the group. “You're all friendly with the law, yes?” he asks, voice pitching oddly high. “No warrants out on your heads or anything of that kind?”

“Of course not,” Sakari says indignantly. “Can you say the same?”

“Only for my killer instincts in love,” Tuuli jokes, stepping forward and massaging her non-bandaged shoulder with a wince.

Rook is too distracted to even respond to her joke. His hands are gripping the strap of his bag tightly. "There’s not a warrant on my head, per se. Just-" He laughs nervously. "I'm going to step back a bit until they pass, but I'll meet you all up ahead." He peels away from the group and doubles back towards the woods.

Tuuli shrugs, unbothered by his reaction, and steps forward, the jingle of her jewellery echoing against the pines. Sakari steps with her, one hand touching his dagger.

“Mind your manners,” he warns. “We don’t want to offend anybody in this land.”

“Mind yourself, greenie,” she says with a sharp smile, warning in her eyes. “The last boy to tell me what to do fell off a cliff.”

“There're no cliffs around here,” he retorts. “And you’ll find I’m sure footed enough on land!”

Tuuli shrugs again, letting her foot linger deliberately behind her in his path. Sakari is so busy glaring at the back of her head that doesn’t realize how close he is until he stumbles over it. He staggers, catches himself before he sprawls, and rights himself as quickly as he can. Not sure whether to blame himself or Tuuli, he decides to say nothing.

“Oh, sure-footed as a goat, our greenie-boy is!” Tuuli sings, dancing around him in a circle. “A sailor, a prince, what a graceful man this!”

“Oh, shut up! If you would walk a little faster, I wouldn’t walk into you!”

She circles him again, eyes darkening. “Maybe we could walk together,” she says, reaching up and flicking the tip of his nose. “I promise to help you if you trip...this time.”

The soldiers are nearing, their attention caught now by the antics of the pair. Altha is digging frantically through her bag. " _Consus sever my sandals,_ " she spits. "The parchment with the King's seal is gone. That was our only form of verification."

Tuuli hears her concerns, but keeps her eyes on Sakari. Her fingers draw around the dice on her necklace, and she pulls them out with a _click._

“Hold up!” The man at the head of the unit raises his hand, palm up, to stop them. "What's your business travelling in such a large group?”

Sakari turns away from Tuuli. “Petras, do you want to speak for us or shall I?”

“I'll do it,” Petras says. “I suspect they might be more inclined to listen to someone a bit older, meaning no offense.” He turns to the soldiers and dips a polite bow. "We're a diplomatic group, on a mission to the Amber Isles. We were blown off course during the terrible storm and lost many of our possessions; now, we're travelling to Goven, seeking medical assistance and supplies. We mean no harm to anyone and simply wish to pass in peace.”

The soldier, a grey-haired man with a grizzled face, narrows his eyes. Beneath his cloak, they can see his fingers hovering on the hilt of his blade. “The Amber Isles are forbidden for foreigners. Who would dare send you there?”

They consider each other for a tense moment before Tuuli slides forward, laughing lightly, the sound like bells tinkling. “Silly man,” she says in a fond way, pulling herself up to faux-whisper to the soldiers. “He doesn’t want to admit that we’re a performance troupe. He’s embarrassed, you know, because his wife ran off with our strongman and he’s not been the same since.” 

Petras and Sakari both look horrified at the lie, but the soldier doesn’t move. One of his companions, a young woman with dark hair braided back and laced with beads, steps forward to stand by his side. "They seem harmless enough," she murmurs to him, passing her eyes over the bedraggled group. "But why their injuries? Do you think-"

He cuts her off with a hand and moves in until he’s uncomfortably close to Sakari, who he seems to have pegged as the weak link in the group. "Is that true?" he asks, his voice low, so near that Sakari can smell the tobacco on his breath. "About the troupe and the strongman?"

“Um...I-I haven’t...I don’t know. I haven’t asked Petras about it.” Uncomfortably, Sakari adds, “He seems a bit delicate since it all happened, and I don’t want to pry.”

The soldier’s face is unreadable. “They’re simple questions: Are you a troupe or not? Did your strongman run off with his wife?” When Sakari continues to stutter unconvincingly, the soldier's hand twitches and the others move in, flanking the group.   
“I'm afraid you'll have to explain better than that, son.”

“The _strongman_ ran off with _his_ wife,” Tuuli enunciates. “I told you. And she was our main act, too! Now we’re stuck with Sakari, who can’t even juggle.” She sighs sadly. “We were hoping to start a new season in town.” Then, in an excited whisper, she brightens and adds, “would you like a sneak peek of the performance?”

The soldier crosses his arms, face still etched in a scowl, but he allows it. "You'd better be good," he growls.

Tuuli blows a kiss at him and stands posed, arms arched over head. Then she jumps in the air, skirt swishing like a flame. She kicks up her heels, jewellery jingling, then she twirls in a circle and begins to sing: “Flame of night, flame of day, why did you send my lover away?” She withdraws her scarf and wraps it around Sakari, spinning around him. “Flame of vice, flame of virtue, bring him back, please I urge you. Flames of grief, flames of sorrow, won’t you wash away tomorrow?” She looks up at Sakari before twirling away again. “Flame of tears, flame of light, bring my lover back tonight.” Then, with a final leap, she lands in front of the soldiers once more. “Flame of law, flame of justice, won’t you—and that’s it.” She winks. “Can’t ruin the whole performance.”

Two of the soldiers, both men, clap at the performance. Their leader doesn't join them, but his frown does flatten a little. “Very pretty,” he says with a bit of begrudging approval. “Where are you coming in from?”

“Carthum,” Tuuli responds, stretching her long arms across her body. She looks up at the soldiers from under her eyelashes. “We’re very lost,” she says with a pout and a sigh. “This one,” she points at Sakari, “is supposed to be our brains. But we’re broke, so he can’t be all that bright. Could you point us to the nearest town? Pretty please?”

"Explain your injuries first," interjects the woman, who does not look nearly as impressed with Tuuli's performance.

Tuuli goes dramatically white. “We were attacked,” she admits in a whisper. “One man was angry about my performance and,” she wraps her arms around her body, wincing exaggeratedly and showing off her shoulder, “Petras saved me. He...he’s a good man. He didn’t deserve what life has dealt him, with his wife and all.”

Petras looks awkwardly at the ground and tries to look convincingly sad.

"Ah." Somehow, the story works, and the woman shakes her head in sympathy. “Well, then, you'd best move on quickly. There's rumours of rebels in these parts, but if you keep to the main road you'll reach Goven within the hour in safety.”

The soldiers move back, releasing the group and reforming behind them. 

"Keep your eyes out," the leader calls out after them. "Watch the woods."

They continue on down the road alone. After about ten minutes, Rook materializes from the flanking trees to rejoin them. "Did I miss much?" he asks.

Petras shakes his head. "Only the slander of my wife,” he says, sounding miffed. “Tuuli saved us with some quick thinking, but I’d have preferred she’d left my wife -even a fictional version of her- out of it.”

Rook hums. “Interesting. I thought I might have lost the lot of you. But you handled yourselves well, I suppose, seeing as you made it through without being arrested. That’s no easy feat. It’s a shame I couldn’t have seen Tuuli working her magic.”

“It was nothing you needed to see,” Sakari mutters.

Tuuli whips around. “I saved you,” she hisses. “If it weren’t for me you’d be arrested, or worse, with _your_ lying. Actually, just for that,” and she shakes his own bow and arrows at him, “I think these are mine now.” 

“If you’re that upset Rook missed the show,” Sakari growls, striding past her, “why don’t you give him a private encore later?” 

Tuuli ignores him, taking off her shoe and bunching it up into a ball. She hauls it back and throws it, solidly hitting the back of Sakari’s head with a _thwack,_ and then smirks in satisfaction.

“ _Ow!_ You outrageous hussy!” He snatches the shoe up and stuffs it into his pocket.

Tuuli gasps at that, hands making grabby motions. “That’s mine!” she shouts. “You thief, you greenie, you boo-fooloon!” She attempts to grab it from his pocket, but he jumps ahead of her by a few steps.

“Oh, no- If you can’t have any manners, then you don’t deserve to get it back! Ask me nicely and maybe I’ll return it!”

Altha groans and rolls her eyes, sidestepping the both of them.

“I don’t give into demands that aren’t from my god, silly boy,” says Tuuli, dashing after him. “But I’m open to a trade.” She holds out his bow and arrows, fluttering her eyelashes. “You can have them once you give me back my shoe.”

Sakari pauses, eyeing her. “I don’t trust you that far, little minx. Tell you what, I’ll hand you the shoe _as_ you hand me my bow. On three?”

She nods, agreeable enough. “One...two...”

“Three.”

Tuuli holds out the bow and arrows innocently. He grabs them as he passes the shoe, struggling a bit when she continues to grip them tightly, but eventually she releases them and slips on her shoe again.

“ _Thank_ you,” Sakari says, and walks on as if to pretend nothing had happened.

“You’re not welcome!” she shoots back.

Altha pinches the bridge of her nose. "Petras, could you _please_ stand between them?"

Petras limps obligingly over and wedges himself next to Sakari, trying to make conversation to distract him from Tuuli, who sniffs and whirls around to speak to Rook instead, who seems delighted with the whole show.

“I'll keep you company, dear,” he reassures her, nudging her with an elbow. “Ignore him. Anyway, we're almost there.”


	4. The Hound

Within the hour, they arrive at Goven. It’s a quiet town perched on the edge of the coast, filled mostly by fishermen. Its brightly painted houses are settled unevenly along the shoreline rocks and gulls wheel constantly overhead, filling the streets with their shrieking calls. The docks and streets are busy despite the cold, and many eye their group curiously as they pass.

Rook leads them to a large building in the town's heart. Above the door swings a sign, carved into the shape of a snarling pikehound, long and lithe, with hideously bared teeth and ears flat against its skull. Laughter spills out from the building into the streets.

Rook gestures to the door with a flourish. "Welcome to the Hound," he says grandly. "Finest inn in the town, best rum this side of the coast. You won't be disappointed." Then he pauses. "I'm assuming you have money? Because if not, this isn't the place to steal from. I can take you to a different one if that's the case.”

“I have money,” Tuuli says, inspecting the sign and peering into the windows

He sighs in relief. “Good. Sia would have my hide if I brought her useless customers.”

Tuuli jumps to look into the top window. “She can have it anyway,” she says, feeling somewhat fractious from her fight with Sakari.

“Is there a surgeon in this town” Sakari asks. He directs an approving smile at Tuuli for her jab, though she only frowns at him in response.

"Yes, but he's not any good. Don't worry- I know someone better.”

"Who?"

Rook leans against the wall of the inn, feet kicked out. "Me. I just need the supplies."

" _You're_ a surgeon?" Petras asks, surprise in his voice.

Tuuli can't help it. She laughs. “A surgeon for what? Love and witty comments?” She presses a hand to her brow. “Surgeon, surgeon, heal me!”

“Vala protect us from charlatans,” Sakari mutters, casting his eyes skyward.

Rook stiffens a little at the mockery. "You don't know a thing about me. I've fixed up far worse wounds than yours and done it more times than you’d guess.”

“Fine,” says Tuuli, raising an eyebrow at him, “but what would you want in return?”

“Money, of course. But I charge less than the surgeon, so you're getting a bargain.”

Tuuli shrugs, pulling out her dice and rolling them into her hand. She still looks put-out.

Sakari adjusts the bag across his shoulder, frowning. “I’m not one of the patients, but how do we know you actually have these skills? How do we know you’re not trying to scam us?”

“Look,” Rook snaps, is usual playfulness gone, “there are few reasons for a Somoskan to end up a Nomoskan corpsecrow, and none of them are pleasant. Trust me. I can do it." He reaches for the door and props it open with his hip. "If you can't take my word for it, feel free to wait and see what happens when your wounds get infected.”

That’s enough to sober Sakari. He glances quickly at Tuuli’s bandaged shoulder and turns then turns to Petras in question.

"I'll go first," Petras says, seeming to understand the younger man’s concerns."That way, if anything goes wrong, or it turns out Rook’s lying, Tuuli won't get hurt.”

Tuuli has rolled her dice in her palm and ended up with good numbers. She huffs. “How much, then?”

Rook names a price. It's not cheap, but it's considerably lower than the regular rates for a surgeon, and Tuuli hands the money over without a word. It vanishes instantly into an unseen pocket.

Tuuli slips the dice back on her necklace and sighs. “Take care of Petras,” she instructs. Then, with a smirk, she adds, “He’s old.”

Petras accepts the jab good naturedly. “I appreciate your concern, Tuuli. Thank you.”

Sia will have food for you all,” says Rook, waving them inside, “and I'll get a room to clean you both up." He turns to Sala and Misko. "There'll be sweets, too, like I promised.”

Inside, a fire is roaring in a brick chimney. The air is heavy and smells of rum, wood, and the sourness of too many men. All the tables but two in the far corner are filled and various characters weave between them, balancing huge mugs and flat trays full of food. 

A long desk of dark wood is fixed at the back, behind which stands a woman. She's tall and muscled, her hair braided in thick black strands, but she moves nimbly behind her counter, pouring drinks and hurling them at alarming speeds down the countertop towards her customers. She looks up at them as they enter and smiles when she sees Rook.

"Ho, little crow! You're back early!"

Rook darts nimbly through the crowd to her side. "I said I wouldn't be gone long this time." He pulls something from his bag, a scrap of scribbled-on parchment, and passes it over. Sia plucks it from his fingers and hides it away beneath the collar of her dress.

The others trail behind, shoved a little by the crowd. Someone bumps into Sakari and pushes him sideways into Tuuli.

As they approach the counter, they can hear Sia speaking to their guide in a low voice. "He's well, then? You saw them?"

Rook nods. Then, seeing them approach, he straightens up and smiles. "I found some _interesting_ new friends, too. They were out in the southern woods, near the old mines."

Sia examines them, a smile softening her expression when she sees Misko in Sala's arms. He's wide-eyed, his head bobbing as he looks from stranger to stranger, the chatter of the inn swirling around him. "You all look exhausted," Sia says kindly. "How can I help you?" When no one answers, she raises an eyebrow. "Quiet group, I take it? Do you need a room?" She looks at the girls and adds, "maybe two?“

Sakari looks at Petras, uneasily aware of his lack of money, but Tuuli is prepared. “Rooms, yes,” she says with a smile. “Two, if you please.”

Sia smiles back at her, dimples wrinkling in her cheeks. "Two it is. We've got food down here if you need." She glances over at Rook. "Are you staying too, little crow?"

He shakes his head. "No. I'll stick around for a meal, maybe. And whatever, uh, _else_ I might need to collect before I leave town."

Sia crosses her arms and nods. "You might need two meals, then. I'll get you something to drink while you wait.”

While Petras stares politely at the wall, trying to give Rook and Sia some semblance of a private conversation, Sakari looks blatantly between the two, his brow creased in puzzlement. Tuuli notices the interaction but says nothing, keeping an air of pleasant stupidity to her.

“I’m sorry,” she cuts in, “but may I beg you for some drink? My friends and I have had quite an... adventure, getting here.”

"Ah, of course. What can I get you? Water? Something a little stronger, perhaps?"

"Get the rum," suggests Rook. "She spices it herself."

“Water, thank you,” Sakari says primly, and Petras asks for the same.

Rook rolls his eyes. "You're missing out."

Sia smacks his arm and he yelps. "Hush up, you. Go sit down somewhere and don't harass my customers."

Rook snorts but obeys, sliding away to an open table and muttering, “ _I_ brought you these customers” under his breath.

Sia whistles and waves a hand. A boy darts forward from the back room, wide-eyed and curly haired, and stands attentively. "Find them some good rooms," Sia tells him. "Not the ones near the back. Give them the two facing the harbour that just opened up." He nods and pivots on a heel, not waiting to see if they follow.

“Need any help, Petras?” he asks, biting back a pleased smile at Rook’s departure.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” says Petras with a grimace, shifting his weight so he’s not putting pressure on his injured leg.

Sakari wraps an arm around his waist and helps him after the boy. “I’ll make sure your alleged surgeon makes it upstairs, don’t worry.”

Petras laughs, a little breathlessly. "Good, thank you.”

Sala, who’s paused at the foot of the stairs, clears her throat. “Um...should he be drinking? If he’s going to fix you up?”

They turn to see Sia placing a massive mug in front of Rook, which he grabs eagerly as he blows the inkeeper a kiss. Sakari narrows his eyes, but it’s Tuuli who stops Rook before he can lift the drink to his lips. She snags the mug from the table and sips it herself. “You’re right,” she tells Rook. “It’s very good.” Then, before he can get mad about his lost drink, she presses a brief kiss on his forehead. “Forward, surgeon,” she instructs, pushing him towards the stairs.

He blinks in surprise at the kiss and pulls back a little. Behind him, Sakari’s watching from the stairs, jaw tightening. “Oh,” Rook stutters, "Right. That." He casts a longing look at the mug in her hand and sighs. "You might as well drink it then. Don't let it go to waste.”

Tuuli only wiggles her fingers in farewell and takes another sip. 

The boy leads them all up a set of sturdy stairs and down a long hallway, pausing before two doors on the right. He opens both with a set of keys and waves them in. “Mama will get you food downstairs, if you need,” he says cheerfully. “And there's a bell in there to ring if something's missing.”

“Thanks,” Sakari says breathlessly. He helps Petras to a bed, while Altha and Sala usher Misko, despite his protests, into the neighbouring room.

Rook follows Sakari in, unclipping his cloak and kicking it against the wall. “Agrun,” he says, addressing the boy still standing in the doorway, “we'll be needing a basin of water and some clean rags. Maybe something stronger, too, for this one.” He nods at Petras.

Petras sits up on the bed, leaning on his elbow. “Will that really be necessary?”

“He’s not a professional,” Sakari points out. “You probably want to be as unaware as possible.”

Rook shoots Sakari a sour glare. “I was going to offer him some wine as a curtesy, to numb any potential pain, but perhaps we could give it all to _you_ instead. Then maybe you wouldn't be such dull company.”

Sakari glares back. “Oh no, thank you. I will be fully in possession of my wits so I can be sure you don’t make his injuries worse!”

Rook scowls and calls him something in old Moskan.

“I beg your pardon?” Sakari asks sharply.

He repeats it emphatically. “ _Dierwit_ _.”_

Sakari crosses his arm and says with poisonous sweetness, “Maybe so, but I’m not the one who’s being trusted with a man’s leg and possibly his life! So I’ll be begging Vala not to let _you_ be a dierwit, or you’ll be answering for any mistakes.”

“He's not going to die,” snaps Rook. “Look at his leg- he'll be fine. But you-” He curls his lip. “You think you can make me answer for anything? I've killed men far more dangerous than a pretty boy from Tayem Rei.”

On the bed behind them, Petras is pinching the bridge of his nose in dismay.

“Oh,” Sakari croons, “you think I’m pretty. How nice. Tell you what, why don’t you get him out of pain and then you and I can go talk about this elsewhere?”

Agrun reappears at the door, a basin in his hands and cloth tucked beneath his arm. Rook pushes past Sakari, deliberately jostling him as he takes the supplies from the boy. “I think I'd rather spend some time with that sweet one downstairs sipping my rum. She makes for far more interesting company.”

Sakari bristles. “She doesn’t need your attention. We’re on an important mission and I doubt she wants to be distracted by some no-name, corpse-crow ruffian!”

Rook kneels beside Petras and gently stretches out the leg. “That's not what her kiss said just now.”

Sakari opens his mouth and closes it. He looks away. “She’s a woman,” he mutters. “She was probably...trying to manipulate you.”

"Oh, is that what she does with _you_?" Rook retorts. "Is that why you blush red every time she so much as breathes?"

“Mind your own business!”

"I'm _trying_ to. Now would you kindly shut up and go ask Sia for a needle and thread? Be useful for once.”

With a final, venomous look, Sakari goes down to the bar and looks for Sia.

“You look like you've sucked on an adder,” Sia says when she spots him. "How can I help?”

“Rook neglected to ask for a needle and thread. Could we trouble you for some?”

“Ah, I thought it might be him souring your face.” She ducks behind a curtain and reappears with a thin needle and a long spool of thread. “He's a good man, I swear. Just a little rough around the edges. He'll take care of your friend's leg, though. He's got plenty of experience in that area.” She clasps Sakari by the shoulder as she hands him the supplies. “You saw his ear, yeah? He stitched that one up himself. Did a fine job, too. So trust him.”

Dejectedly, Sakari accepts the supplies. “Thank you. So you know him well?”

She laughs. “Enough to trust him. Rook has survived more than most, and he'll continue to do so. You're lucky he found you. What _did_ happen to you all?” she asks suddenly.

“Supernatural intervention,” Tuuli says from her table on the side, muttering stray guttural words into her mug.

“Oh? Should I be concerned?”

Tuuli looks up at her and winks. “The gods are ever present. Why should evidence be of concern?”

“Yes,” agrees Sia, “but their moods matter a great deal.”

Tuuli sings a song in reply:

_“_ _The gods once sent me off to play,_

_Into the woods of forest_ _gray_ _,_

_And when I came home_ _at the end of the day,_

_I found that death had made its stay._

_But I have remained faithful in my way,_

_For the gods speak laws, come what may._ _”_

Then raises her glass and downs it. Someone in the crowded inn whistles in admiration.

“You have a nice voice,” Sakari says shyly.

Sia nods in approval. "If you stay and sing for my customers, I'd pay you a fine sum.”

“Please do!” Sakari agrees! Then, ears red, he adds quickly, “The, ah, people here would like that a lot.”

Tuuli picks at the wooden table. “I will, but only partially for money,” she says, looking up Sia as if they’re sharing a secret. “I want something else, something...” She taps her fingers against her thigh. “Something not revealed yet. She then smiles sunnily up at Sia. “Yes? I sing for half-price?”

Sia purses her lips. "An interesting deal, but I'll take it. Half-price and something mysterious.”

Sakari takes the needle and thread and darts up the stairs, back to the room. He shoves the supplies at Rook, “Here.”

Rook raises both eyebrows at his hurry. "In a rush?"

“There’s a singer downstairs that I want to hear.”

Rook snorts, but Sakari is already dashing back down the stairs. He finds an empty seat where he can see Tuuli and from there he leads the applause after every song. Tuuli rolls her eyes heavenward when she sees him.

Upstairs, Rook finishes cleaning the wounds on Petras' leg and begins stitching the skin together carefully. Petras grimaces, but attempts to make conversation. “Thank you for doing this, my friend.”

Rook snips the thread neatly with his teeth. “It's a small matter,” he says. “You seem like a good man.”

“I'd certainly like to think I am,” Petras says gravely. "But you shouldn't sell yourself short, Rook. You’re also a good man.”

That elicits a chuckle. “Haven't been called that before, but thank you.”

"You are," Petras insists. "You didn't have to guide us here, and you didn't have to do this either." He nods down at his leg. "Those are the actions of someone who is a _good_ man. I don't pay attention to the gossip of others; I judge people by their words and deeds. More people should do the same. It might make the world a little better.”

Rook stops and looks at him for a long moment. “I-” He shakes his head. “It's been a long while since I spoke to a man of your kind. May Eua keep her gentle distance from you.”

"And from you," Petras responds respectfully. He pauses. "If you don't mind my asking, Rook… how did you come to be a corpsecrow?”

Rook hesitates for a moment. “You're from Pola, yes?”

“Yes, I am.”

“How familiar are you with slavery in Nomoska?”

Petras frowns. “Not very, I'm afraid.”

“All the better for you.” Rook sighs. “Slavery has been illegal in Nomoska for over a century, but there are still certain _uses_ for Somoskan slaves in the country.”

"Like what?" Petras shakes his head. "Forgive me for prying. Please, continue as you see fit.”

Rook finishes the stitching and begins wrapping the leg in clean bandages. “Entertainment. Pit fighting. Surely you have that in Pola as well?”

"No, not at all." Petras looks appalled. "You fought in these pits for other people's entertainment?“

He shrugs. "I was good.“

"Still, it should not have happened." Petras thinks for a moment. “You escaped?”

“I had help." He wraps the final bandage and crouches back on his heels. "A woman. We left together.”

“Did you stay together?”

"Do I look like a man with a woman?" Rook says with a strained laugh. "Your leg is all done. I'll go and get Sakari.”

“Wait.” Petras reaches out. “I apologize. That was none of my concern. Truly, though, I am curious why you became a corpsecrow after you escaped, rather than something else. But if you don't wish to tell me, you don't have to.”

“No, no, I take no offense.” Rook smiles wryly back at Petras, one hand on the door handle. “It's just been a while since I talked so openly with someone.” He hesitates, his mouth bobbing as if unsure what to share, and then he says only, “there’s not much for an escaped pit viper besides theft.” Then he's gone down the stairs.

Down in the main room, Tuuli is still singing. Rook shoulders his way through the crowd until he finds Sakari. "Hey there, greenie," he whispers in his ear, a little closer than necessary.

Sakari jumps and his expression immediately sours. “I take it you’re done. He’s still alive?”

“Of course. I told you there was no danger for him. Anyway, I've come to fetch you. If, that is, you can tear yourself away from Tuuli.” He grins wickedly. “Your face is all red, pretty boy. Did she give you a kiss too?”

Sakari stands up, bumping Rook with his shoulder. “I’ll see if he’s hungry.”

Rook takes his seat. “Good. And I'll stay here and listen.”

Sakari mutters a curse and heads up the stairs. He’s still muttering when he walks into Petras’ room, but he tries to brighten up for the man. “How are you feeling?” he asks. “Can I get you anything?”

Petras smiles weakly. “Whatever's available, thank you. I'm not picky. And I feel well enough. Still hurts a bit, but nothing I can't handle.”

“Tough man,” says a voice from behind. Altha is leaning her hip against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I barely heard you from the other room.”

Petras looks uncomfortable with the praise. “I didn't want to disturb anyone in the building.”

“Don't worry,” Altha grunts. “I'm sure the corpsecrow's already done that for you.”

Petras frowns. "Why do you always speak of him so negatively?”

She wrinkles her nose. “What good is there to say? Corpsecrows are a plague on our lands. They mock Eua's authority and desecrate the dead. It'll be all the better when we can leave him behind.” She swivels her head to look down the hallway. “Where did he run off to, anyway? We still need to tend to Tuuli.”

Sakari sighs audibly. “I’ll see if she’s done singing. She’s very brave, to do so much without even resting.”

Altha snaps upright. “She's singing? With that shoulder un-cared for? In that crowded bar? _Kahre's breath_ that girl has no sense." She grabs Sakari by the arm and pulls him from the room, shoving him hurriedly towards the stairs. “Go get her, would you, before she dies of poisoned blood? And drag Rook back up too.”

He scurries downstairs and looks around for Tuuli. She’s taking a break, drinking another mug of rum, her face weary and a little white, her shoulders hunched a little. Sakari approaches her and says softly, “We have rooms upstairs. Why don’t you come up and let us tend your shoulder?”

She shrugs, draining her mug once more and standing a little shakily. “I am both willing and able, Green,” she declares. Then she looks around for Rook.“Rock! Come on, your job isn’t over yet.”

"Coming, Tulip," Rook calls back, getting to his feet. “Anything for you.”

She laughs, twirling around Sakari in an attempt to blow away the pain growing ever heavier in her shoulder. “Up the sailors go, two by two,” she hums, hopping up the stairs.

Sakari follows after her, filling the staircase as well as he can to prevent Rook from passing him. Rook pokes him repeatedly in the back for every stair they climb.

Tuuli pauses at the top. “Which room?”

"Here!" Altha ducks her head out of the second room and waves her in. "Petras is in the other, and I want him to rest."

Laughter echoes down the hallway as Misko ducks beneath Altha's legs. "Tuuli!" he cries when he sees her. "You can see the ocean from here!"

She puts her hands on her knees. “Can you?” She smiles. “It waves to us always, so we must wave back!”

His eyes light up. "I didn't know that!" He turns, ready to rush to the window, but Sala catches him by the back of his tunic.

"No you don't," she says sternly. "I told you we need to keep out of the way."

Tuuli laughs, stepping into the room. “Rock!” she calls from inside.

Rook jams an elbow as hard as he can into Sakari's back and then darts nimbly around him. “Patience, Tulip, I'm nearly there.”

She’s already taking off her dress. “It’s on my shoulder,” she tells him. “It pulls some.” She winces as she peels a bit of fabric from the skin.

Rook moves to help her, eyebrows already pinching in clinical concern. "Does it hurt?”

Sakari rounds the corner, glaring daggers at Rook, but he forgets the jab completely when he sees Tuuli’s state of undress. Flushing red, he glances at Altha to see if she looks as scandalized as he feels, but she looks at him straight-faced. 

“What, you've never seen a woman's back before?”

He stutters. “No, I-I’ll, uh, I’ll go check on Petras.”

"He's fine," says Altha smoothly. “Go fetch the water basin from his room. We'll need some fresh water.”

“Yes ma’am.” He fetches the basin, gets fresh water from Sia, and comes up again, trying to avert his eyes and failing.

Rook takes the bowl from him with a grin as Tuuli finishes pulling her dress from the wounds. "Are you feeling well, dear Sakari?" he asks mockingly, but then his face stills as he turns back and sees the extent of Tuuli’s injuries. “Tuuli,” he gasps, “what did this?”

The gashes on her shoulder, though not wide, have grown worse without attention. The skin around them looks swollen and tender, but more troubling is the black hue ringing the punctures like coal crushed into her skin. The scabs that had been protecting them have been torn loose in the undressing and now the wounds bleed once more as if newly made.

Sakari has given up on pretending he’s not looking, too horrified by the sight. “Tuuli, you shouldn’t have been singing! You should’ve laid down immediately!”

"What _did_ this?" Rook repeats, voice urgent.

“Obruos,” Tuuli says tersely. “It’s not as bad as it could be.” She clenches her fist, swaying in place. “This is a gift from a man who lost his life for me.”

Rook swears in Old Moskan. "Get on the bed, now,” he orders. When Sakari steps a little closer, face anxious, Rook turns to him with panicked eyes. “Get Sia. Tell her it’s urgent.”

Sia swears a streak of her own when she comes into the room and sees Tuuli on the bed. “Eua take you all for fools,” she snaps when they explain the situation. “Did the thing bite her?”

Tuuli laughs into the bed. “Do not worry,” she tells them, eyes blinking slowly. Something like ice is slithering through her veins, weighing down her limbs, curling around her lungs and making it hard to breathe the longer she focuses it on it. Mercifully, the wounds on her shoulder are numb. But she remains certain, even in her delirium -or perhaps because of it- that there is little to fear. “My god will not let me die.”

“Your god may not have much say in the matter,” Sia retorts, moving to her side. She rests a hand against Tuuli's back and grimaces. “I'm right, aren't I? It bit you?”

“Teeth,” Tuuli mutters helpfully.

"Hush, no speaking,” Sia says, seeming to forget it was she that asked for an answer. She twists her head and barks at the other occupants of the room. "Out, everyone, except Rook! Have you no respect for the woman's privacy?”

Sakari flinches and scuttles out, Altha behind him. 

Sia gently pokes the skin around a bite mark. "Can you feel that?"

“Yes,” Tuuli murmurs. Her body feels like an alien substance, like thick concrete mixture while her soul perches like a bird above.

"That's good." Sia moves her fingers around the wounds, pressing gently. "And here? Yes, good. Here too?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Your god may be looking out for you after all ." Sia stands and fetches the water basin, snatching up a strip of clean cloth. "Rook, go take that  young man who seems to hate you so much and find me some addersteeth. Ia should have some in her shop.”

Rook blanches. “Those are poisonous, Sia.”

"I _know_. Now do what I said."

He flees the room, nearly crashing into Sakari who has been hovering just outside in the hallway. “Is she all right?” Sakari demands immediately.

"Yes. No." Rook shakes his head. "I don't know. But Sia says we need addersteeth and she wants us to go fetch it. Have you got any coins?“

“No.” His eyes are haunted with helplessness. “Tuuli does! Can you find her purse?”

At the risk of being yelled at again by Sia, they slip back into the room and retrieve a handful of coins from Tuuli’s purse. Then they bolt from the inn. 

The shop they've been sent to is indeed close by, and as they burst through the front door, nearly frantic, they're greeted by a woman so small she barely rises to their chests. She's arranging small bundles of clipped herbs on a table, tying them with twine, and she doesn’t even bother to look their way. "We're about to close," she says curtly.

“She’s about to die,” Sakari gasps. “Please, we need addersteeth!”

The woman makes a scoffing sound in her throat. “Addersteeth will only help her go quicker, son.”

Rook holds out the coins, shaking them in his fist. "Sia sent us, Ia. Please. It's urgent."

Ia finally looks over, eyes squinted. “Oh, it's you, Rook. I thought you smelled familiar. Like something dead.” Her wrinkled hands feel along the table and onto the shelves where she taps the various jars carefully until she finds a thick glass one closed with a cork of wax. There’s a few pieces of what appears to be small and very shrivelled spotted mushrooms inside. “Here,” she says, turning slowly back. She passes the jar to Rook and pulls three coins from his hand. “Don't kill anyone I know with it.”

Sia lets them into the room again only long enough to pass her the addersteeth. Then, the door shuts in their faces. They stare after it miserably. 

"Why didn't you tell me you were attacked by obruos?" Rook asks.

“I didn’t think of it. I barely saw them.”

Rook shakes his head. “Obro bites are bad. She could get pulled through the Veil and trapped.”

Sakari sucks a breath between his teeth. He puts his back against the wall and slides to sit on the floor. “When will we know?”

“I don't understand what Sia's doing,” Rook admits, fidgeting with the end of his scarf. “It's anyone's guess. But she's dealt with obruo wounds before on fishermen, and I think a few lived.”

Just then, the door opens and Sia slips quietly out. “It'll take the night," she tells them in hushed tones, "so someone should sit with her. Pray she's lucky.”

Sakari scrambles up. “I shouldn’t have asked her to sing. Let me sit with her, please.”

Sia nods in approval. “The both of you should stay in case something changes and you need to fetch me. She's sleeping, now. The addersteeth did that quick enough." She points a finger at them, her eyes flicking between their wide ones as she instructs them sternly. “She may shake and cry out, but don't try to wake her; the poison has to push the obruo's venom out. But if the black around the wounds spreads, call me.”

The night passes fitfully, and no one gets much sleep besides Tuuli, who, though unconscious, tosses about in the bed and cries out for hours. In her dreams, the obruo rises before her, hollow eye sockets leering at her as it lunges for her again. This time, however, it wears the familiar face of Finin, twisted and warped into something foul, and near morning she wakes with a scream as the teeth seem to meet her skin.

Sakari jolts out of his doze at her cry. “Tuuli!” He claps a hand immediately over his own mouth, afraid of waking her too soon. But she’s already awake and blinking at him. “Tuuli? Are you...are you all right?” 

Rook, whose head had been resting on Sakari's shoulder, jolts awake now too. “Wha\- Tuuli, is she-”

“Open a window,” Tuuli croaks. “The—the wind. Open the window.”

Sakari opens it for her, looking over his shoulder to watch her face as he does. She pushes herself up, wincing until the breeze hits her face. Then she sighs in relief.

“Do you need some water?” Sakari asks gently.

She nods. “I suppose that is the other payment my god had in mind. Sia pays me half-price, and I get to not die. A fair trade, I think.” Then she tries a joke. “What did I miss?”

Sakari laughs, shaky with relief. “Us panicking. Rook snoring. I’ll go get you some water.”

———————

Downstairs, Sia’s face melts in relief when Sakari tells her the good news. “Eua's let her be, then,” she sighs as she turns to fetch a glass of water for him to bring to Tuuli. “She's lucky. Very, very lucky.”

“Thank you for looking after her.”

“Of course.” Sia rearranges a braid that had slipped from the heavy bun pinned at the nape of her neck. “You should let her rest for at least a day before leaving. Are you travelling to the capital?”

“We’re going to the Amber Isles. Or we’re supposed to. We’ve lost our ship.”

She gives him an odd look. "Foreigners aren't allowed on Isle soil. Surely you know that?”

“We had the King’s seal, and Sala was to be our guide. The shipments of _sillen_ have stopped coming and we need to find out why.” He leans his shoulder against the door as she hands him the glass. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Ah, so the new King is overstepping his bounds. Interesting.” She chews her lip thoughtfully. “I can only tell you what the fishermen say over their drinks: that the waters are troubled in strange ways and the fish are scarce where they should be plenty. Even so, I'm sure one of the boats in the harbour will take you as far as the Isles if you pay them well enough. They won't stay, but I'm sure the Isles have their own ships to take you home again.”

Sakari nods. “Thank you, we’ll look into that. Maybe Altha can help me hire a ship today.” He turns to go, then hesitates. “What makes you say the king is overstepping his bounds? We’re a peaceful delegation. We just want to find out why the _sillen_ isn’t being shipped any more.”

Sia's lips tighten. She shakes her head once, then again, as if to shoo away her own thoughts. “Never mind that. I'm too loose with my words as it is, so pay me no mind. I meant nothing by it.”

Sakari examines her a moment, eyes worried, and then nods. “Thank you again for all your kindness.” He takes the water up to Tuuli.

Though it takes an exhausting amount of negotiation, a ship is finally hired to take them to the Isles. Sia sends them off with a large bundle of food, mostly strips of dried and salted meat and a few fresh biscuits. Rook, who accompanies them to the shore, adds in a handful of brightly coloured sweets, as promised, for Misko; here’s a bundle for him too, but he tucks it away in his coat without opening it.

The morning is bright and the wind blows steadily, though it does not howl as in the days before. Their chosen ship is small, but Rook assures them the trip to the Isles will take only a day. "You'll be there by nightfall," he says, voice full of confidence.

“Vala protect me, I hope so,” Sakari says, glancing uneasily at the water.

Petras eyes the shore too. “How often do those creatures attack ships?”

Rook shrugs. "Dunno. Never left land myself. But I'd hope it's not often." He winks playfully at Tuuli. “This one's lucky, anyway, so I'm sure everything will be fine. How about  a final kiss , then, to bring me luck before you leave?”

“Doubt you need it,” Sakari mutters sulkily, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Tuuli, finally paying attention to this exchange, turns to press a fond kiss to Rook’s cheek. “Take care, Rock,” she teases.

Grinning, he pulls her back and kisses her cheek too. “If you get fed up with Greenie, come find me.” 

Sakari looks away with a childish pout. Something grabs his right leg tightly, wrapping itself around him. When he looks down, he finds Misko there, his face morphed comically in an exaggerated frown, bottom lip turned out, eyes wide.

“Guess who I am?” the boy asks. He answers his own question without waiting for any guess. “You! I’m you!”

Sakari picks him up and holds him upside down until he screams in delight. 

Rook, meanwhile, clasps Petras hand in farewell. “May Eua stay far from your side, Petras.”

Petras holds his hand warmly. “And yours, my friend. May we be fortunate enough to meet again some day.”

They part ways, a company of six now that Nenet had chosen to stay on shore (mumbling something about ominous signs and inevitable death). Rook stands on the docks and waves them off until they grow too far away to see.


End file.
